


don't want to be sad forever.

by LovelyVerisimilitude



Series: mellifluous. [2]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Confusion, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Jason Grace is a Dork, Sibling Bonding, Slow Romance, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyVerisimilitude/pseuds/LovelyVerisimilitude
Summary: "You look like shit," Reyna tells him the next morning when they take their seats, waiting for their professor to begin the lecture."Ifeellike shit," he mumbles, but there's a hint of a smile—a hint of alie—in his voice since he doesn'tactuallyfeel like shit.He thinks he knows exactly who to blame.(TATTOOIST AU— Jason doesn’t know what to expect when he gets a tattoo.)
Relationships: Jason Grace & Piper McLean, Jason Grace & Thalia Grace, Jason Grace/Piper McLean (implied)
Series: mellifluous. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795933
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	don't want to be sad forever.

**Author's Note:**

> i. beta read by [Floretfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floretfall/pseuds/Floretfall).

_That is not my sister,_ Jason thinks when he enters Eternity’s Tattoos.

Now, the thing about him is—well, uh—the thing about Jason Grace is that he doesn’t _go_ to tattoo shops or bars or nightclubs or inane college parties or—or—

Or _anything._ He doesn’t go _anywhere._ Sometimes he’s awake in his apartment at two in the morning, gazing at his college textbooks, attempting to decipher what the _hell_ his professor is striving to teach him until he discovers he was gnawing on his pencil the entire night. But his life doesn’t get any more compelling than that. Sure, there was the time the coffee machine bewilderingly broke and the time he found out Dakota robbed his chewing gum every morning in class—but they weren’t anything _new._

So when Jason pushes the door open to the parlor, he feels abnormally... _unfamiliar_ with the place. No one’s in the waiting area and the parlor seems desolate. At least, he thought so until a girl appeared from the backroom.

For a fast, split millisecond, his mind immediately presumes that it’s his sister, which is stupid because, well, Thalia doesn’t resemble the girl in front of him. Like, _at all._

The brown-skinned girl is flicking through her phone, lips pulled into a small smile, dark brown hair framing her face. She’s in a loose T-shirt with a graphic, intricate design of a cat and slim, denim jeggings. She doesn’t notice him until she settles her phone down on a nearby counter, wipes imaginary dust off her thighs, and catches sight of him.

Her mouth parts into an 'o' shape. She clears her throat, then shifts her feet. "I'm sorry, you came at a bad time," she starts to inform before he can speak. "Most of the artists are having their lunch break, but Rachel's still open if—"

"Oh, I didn't come here to get a tattoo," Jason says quickly. "I'm actually here for my sister. I have—uh—I brought her lunch." He holds up a plastic bag with two paper-white Chinese takeout boxes wrapped inside. “Did she mention I was coming?”

The girl stares at him, brows furrowing.

He wonders if he said something wrong. Jason double checks his wording, his grammar, his introduction. Is he in the right shop? God, what if this isn’t Thalia’s tattoo parlor after all and he just sauntered in unannounced like a lunatic? What if he typed the coordinates inaccurately in Google Maps? But that’s _impossible,_ he copied and pasted her text— _oh no,_ did he copy and paste? There’s still time to apologize and make his getaway, still time to not make himself look like a fool, still time to—

And then she blurts out, “I thought you’d be shorter.”

# 

* * *

Jason should be offended, insulted, _upset,_ that someone had jumped to conclusions. That someone thought he’d be short or dark-haired or wear chains or look at least _half_ like Thalia.

But, then again, it’s not anything new.

# 

* * *

“There he is!” Thalia exclaims when he sets foot in the staff lounge. She’s perched on a pale, gray sofa, her feet propped on an ottoman. “Did you bring my food?”

“Of course I did.” He sits next to her, stations the bag on the coffee table, and fumbles with the knot he tied.

When he opens it, Thalia leans in to grab a box. “My favorite?”

Jason makes a face, grabbing his own. “I don’t know your _favorite._ ”

“You’re _supposed_ to. Sibling intuition or some fuckery.”

“Sibling intuition doesn’t exist.”

“Didn’t ask.”

Someone clears their throat. Jason turns around, seeing the girl from earlier is resting on the doorframe, head bowing when she spots him. Her cheeks are still tinted red from their conversation. After she made that comment, the girl had sputtered something about grabbing her jacket and scurried off before he could catch her.

“Going on break,” she says. “Just thought you should know.”

Thalia doesn’t look back, simply waves her hand and warns, “Be here before three.”

“You know I will.” Her eyes meet his for a moment. Nervously. Awkwardly. Uneasily. She sucks in a breath, latches onto the bag at her side, then leaves.

And there’s something—something—

There’s _something._ He doesn’t know what it is.

Jason knows very little about Thalia and this tattoo business she established a few years back. He knows she was formerly a solo artist until her business exploded and she required additional employees. He knows the other two artists she works with: Rachel, a red-haired girl who knew her way around a tattoo needle better than Thalia herself, and Nico, a polite but immensely pessimistic tattooist who believes friendships are a social construct.

But _this girl._

Jason’s never seen her before in his life.

“Who was that?” he questions, failing to keep the interest from his voice.

His sister slurps her noodles before responding. “Oh, that’s just Piper. She’s new. Hired her a few months ago, actually.” Thalia sneaks him a skeptical glance. “Why do you ask?”

Why _did_ he ask? She—Piper—is a stranger. He knows nothing about her. But that's—that's just how curiosity works. Curiosity is like—just like that.

Yeah.

_Yeah._

But the way she _told_ him—

“She thought I’d be shorter,” Jason blurts out. Laughs briefly. “I’ve never...I’ve _never_ had someone assume I’d be short just because you’re—” he cuts himself off when he spots her warning glare. "Just because you’re...you know.” He coughs into his fist. “Or anything."

“At least she didn’t say she thought you’d be emo. Or like, _goth._ Or like, a fucking _druggie,_ ” Thalia utters eventually, jabbing him with her elbow. “Relax. It’s not like we don’t get these comments every day of our lives.”

Yeah.

Yeah, she’s right.

And it’s not—it’s not—it’s not like he’s _hurt_ about _not_ appearing or being or seeming like her. Jason is Jason and Thalia is Thalia. He wouldn’t change himself. He wouldn’t change Thalia. He’s simply reminded about how goddamn _different_ they are. That no matter what, they always will be.

“Soooooo,” she drawls out, the vowels droning in her mouth, “all that aside, what’s up with you? Hera still giving you a hard time?”

Jason shrugs, the barest lift of his shoulders. “More or less,” he says vaguely. “Hera’s…" he stops. "Hera’s just...being _Hera._ You know what she’s like. Booking appointments with her favorite plastic surgeons, going to dinners with her friends, arguing with dad. Nagging me about my studies, graduation, family business, family gatherings—”

“Of course she is,” Thalia mutters, her chopsticks stabbing her noodles. “Family _this_ —” she stabs “—family _that_ —” she stabs again. Scoffs. Sighs tiredly. “It never ends with her, does it?”

“I guess…” Jason pauses. Thinks. Confirms. “I mean, I guess not.”

She considers him.

Waits.

Studies.

“You can always leave, you know,” Thalia offers, sounding casual. This isn’t a casual matter. “I left. Yeah, maybe dad still bothers me, telling me about all the fucking _cool,_ finanicially _stable_ jobs I could have instead—but at least I’m away from whatever shitshow he and Hera have going on. You can’t—you aren’t—” she pauses. “You don’t _have_ to stay.”

It really seemed feasible, the way she said it. Like he could run out of his fancy apartment, tear apart that damned _Ferrari,_ wave goodbye to college, and live stress-free.

But the thing about Jason Grace—the thing that swallows him whole at night, the thing—the thing about—the thing _is_ —

“It’s not that easy,” he says, releasing his chopsticks and massaging a hand over his temples.

Thalia rolls her eyes. “ _That’s_ your excuse?”

He’s not blind to Thalia’s... _discomfort_ with their stepmother and their family and their overall lifestyle. It’s a discussion that’s been recycled over and over again between them. It’s a discussion he’d rather not have, yet she ceaselessly brings up. Jason’s never had the chance to see Hera—to see _life_ the way Thalia sees it. Maybe he never wants to. Maybe he’s scared. Maybe there is—maybe he—maybe—

Maybe he shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about this.

Because Jason Grace has the perfect damn life, the perfect damn sister, the perfect damn grades, the perfect damn _everything._

He doesn’t _need_ a new life.

Yeah.

He _doesn’t._

# 

* * *

“I’m a shitty _disaster,_ ” Jason complains to Reyna when she arrives, his forehead resting against the edge of his desk. “I’m such—God, I—I don’t _know_ —” he halts. Takes a deep breath. Sits up. Adjusts his reading glasses. “If you see me drop out of Finance, just assume I got jumped and died.”

Reyna nods leisurely, eyes still on a passage from her book. “I presume the visit with your sister didn’t go well?”

He groans, returning his forehead to the desk. “She kept—Thalia kept saying I should live life. Don’t give a damn about rules. Worry about something other than investments and costs and top grades—I’m not even worried about money. You know, typical Thalia Grace stuff. But then she told me...she told me I needed to, like, find who I am—and that’s just—just—when did she become so philosophical? I’m not questioning—I mean—”

“Listen,” Reyna interrupts, shutting the book. “I’m not going to try and understand...whatever it is you’re bitching about, but doesn’t your sister, I don’t know, tell you this all the time? You weren’t phased by it then.”

“I _wasn’t._ ” Jason clenches his fists. “I’m _not._ ”

He’s a shitty liar, too.

# 

* * *

“Are you studying well for your final exam?” Hera probes during their weekly facetimes. She doesn’t allow him to answer, as if already accepting that he was studying. “Do you know when you’ll be out? I want the whole family in one place.”

“As soon as summer starts,” Jason responds, checking his pocket-sized planner and flipping through his eventful schedules. “Why? What’s the occasion?”

“Well, I haven’t seen everyone in a while and your father’s finally agreed to come,” she answers. Checks her cuticles. Curls her lips. “Do you know if Thalia will attend?”

“Thalia?” Jason frowns. “She never attends.”

“Good.” Hera leans back into her chair, arms crossed in an elegant manner. “Could you _imagine_ that girl among our crowd?”

The disgust in her voice causes him to cross his arms, too. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she doesn’t quite belong.” Her eyes glance towards the heavens. “I remember her teenage years. She graffitied our mansion. She skips class. She wanted to run away once. I think she tried to take you with her.” Hera guffaws. “But I know you’re better than that, Jason.”

He doesn’t reply.

# 

* * *

“You finally want to talk to me?” Thalia questions on the other end of the phone, sounding somewhere between pissed and grateful. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past few days.”

“I know,” he replies, recalling all the times he intentionally missed her calls out of pettiness. “And I’m sorry, but...well...don’t bully me or tease me or—”

“Oh no,” Thalia drawls. “Has Hera gone off the charts and decided she wants you to move to England? France?”

“What are you— _no,_ ” Jason scoffs. “This isn’t about Hera.” He wonders if he should’ve written this all down. “Can I...can I book an appointment?”

There’s a beat.

A long silence.

In hindsight, he doesn’t know why he asked. Scratch that, in _no sight,_ he doesn’t know why he asked. He’s just been contemplating about _what_ she said and _why_ he’s doing what he’s doing.

And then...and then—

“What? Wait, wait—what?”

“Can I book an appointment?” he repeats.

“Like—for a tattoo? Like, a custom tattoo? Flash? Whatever it is— _you_ want a tattoo?”

“Yes, Thalia,” Jason says, aggravated. “I want a tattoo. Is that—is that so hard to believe?”

“Kinda? I mean, you never really showed... _fascination_ in getting one. It was all just my thing.” He hears her hum. “So, like, do you already know what you want? Custom or flash?”

“Uh,” he hesitates. “Custom. Yeah. I already have a sketch. I can send it to you if you want a reference.”

She hisses in a breath. “If you wanted one from me, I’m afraid I’m booked for the month. My earliest appointment is in June.”

“Oh,” he replies, hoping he doesn’t appear too crestfallen. “Is there...anybody else? That’s free this week?”

There’s the sound of her flipping paper in the background.

It stops.

Then, she notes, “Piper’s free on Sunday.”

# 

* * *

Jason almost regrets setting foot in Eternity’s Tattoos for the second time that month.

Almost.

Just barely.

He just got back from a Latin study session, so Jason shows up in chinos, a white button-down, thin-rimmed bronze-gold glasses, and leather boat shoes with durable stitching. He could hear Thalia teasing his fashion sense inside his mind, but at least he didn’t have embarrassing frosted tips when he was younger or had thousands of band buttons sewn into every single _fucking_ one of his jackets, so _who’s the one with a bad sense of style now, Thalia?_

Jason makes his way to the receptionist desk—which doesn’t really have an official receptionist; Thalia likes to seem professional—and clears his throat. The girl there is reading a magazine, and just when he’s about to ask if Piper McLean is here, she lowers the magazine and he realizes she _is_ Piper McLean.

She’s wearing a white T-shirt, starkly vivid against her brown skin and dark hair; her brown eyes fall on him and then she’s parting her lips in surprise and he can only _imagine_ what she’s thinking—perhaps _this is the super tall brother of Thalia who I thought was a shortie_ or _this is the fucking loser with the old Chinese takeout._

But all she utters is, “Oh. It’s you. Jason Grace. Thalia’s brother.”

She doesn’t say it condescendingly or disgustingly, which he thinks is a good sign. It’s a little... _disheartening,_ though. The words she said. _Thalia’s brother._

“Yeah. Uh, it’s me.” Jason holds out a piece of sketchbook paper, systematically pleated and tucked. “There—I’m—uh—I have an appointment.”

She rises from her seat, clasping it.

And then he simply stands there with his chin ducked because, _wow,_ did she really believe he’d be shorter? She’s about the same height as Thalia, more or less, and he—he’s not that tall, right? There’s, like, NBA player tall and normal person tall and—is he making this up? He should look this up. His phone’s in his pocket and he has the entire internet in his hands and he can do whatever he wants with the search bar—assuming that nobody checks his search history and thinks, _Wow. Jason Grace is such an idiot. Who does this guy think he is? How did he get accepted into university? Are we sure this is the mighty Zeus’s son?_

Piper unfurls the paper, fingers careful not to mangle it, and scrutinizes the draft. It’s a rugged sketch of a wolf with a crescent moon just shy of the ears, the sketch all black with no color. He remembers staying up after the phone call with Thalia and redoing the sketch on another piece of paper. The other one was pure shit, and even though Thalia would probably understand the illustration, he wasn’t so certain about Piper.

“You want this on your forearm?”

“Yeah,” he answers, pushing his glasses higher. “If that’s, uh, okay.”

“And you’re a—” she stops herself, glancing up at him. “And you’ve never gotten a tattoo before?”

Jason shakes his head. Pushes his glasses again.

She doesn’t seem to mind. “How large do you want this?”

“Not too small. Or too large. Just...noticeable.” With his thumb and index finger, he measures a segment of his forearm. “Yea big?”

Piper strokes her chin. Drums a long finger on the desk. Analyzes the sketch. “I can do a freehand drawing for you. Just to see if you like it since this is your first,” she resolves, then motions to a door, where he assumes the stations are. “This way.”

She moves.

He follows.

# 

* * *

“Mind if I ask what it means?” she questions once he sits and finds a comfortable position for his arm. “Or do you just like the design?”

“It’s...it’s okay. I just…” Jason furrows his brows, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess I just really like wolves?”

He must’ve sounded dumb because Piper laughs faintly— _she has a nice laugh,_ he notes—and collects some pens from a drawer. “Good to know.”

Jason keeps his arm steady as she looms over it, scanning each of the pens to ensure she seized the correct ones. “About the whole, you know, short thing earlier—”

“God, did I make you that uncomfortable?” she suddenly says, pulling a hand towards her forehead. “Sorry, I just—I guess—I was just _thinking_ it and then I _said_ it and I—I don’t know, I wasn’t—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jason reassures. “No one’s ever...you know. Told me that. I’m used to people thinking I’m not Thalia’s brother, but the whole me being short...that’s, uh, that’s a new one.”

Piper turns back to her pens, still steering clear of eye contact, but he can see that her shoulders aren’t as rigid. “Right...so, uh, you just like wolves?”

His attention turns back to his arm. “Wolves...I don’t know. Thalia likes wolves, I like wolves. I think she gave me a wolf plushie once. I was ten. It’s like, the only thing we can ever agree on or have in common and—” his cheeks burn as he reclines back into the chair. “And I shouldn’t have told you that. Just—forget about what I said. It’s...it’s stupid.”

“Kind of,” Piper admits, the pen finally pressing against his skin. It’s sort of ticklish. “But I like that. Your first tattoo symbolizing your sister. It’s sweet.”

“I suppose. Do you have any siblings?”

“Just me and my dad,” she replies, but her expression is guarded. Sort of dark.

Jason figures it’s his cue to shut up.

# 

* * *

She hands him her number after they finish, informing him to text her if there’s anything he wants to add or when they’ll schedule their next appointment.

His eyes follow her smile as she says it.

# 

* * *

That night, Jason researches the proper etiquette and mannerisms in a tattoo parlor.

He doesn’t touch his textbooks.

He misses a call from Hera.

# 

* * *

“Wait, wait, wait, why did you _eat_ it?” Piper laughs. “Are you _trying_ to die?”

“I was, like, six. How was I supposed to know that a keyboard wasn’t edible?”

“ _I_ didn’t eat a _keyboard_ when I was _six._ ”

“At least I didn’t _actually_ eat it. Just, you know, chewed it.” He hears her laugh again. “Hey, look, it’s not my fault that I liked putting weird things in my mouth.”

“There’s no need to make it sound like an innuendo.” Piper snickers.

“I wasn’t―” Jason blushes furiously, then mumbles, “Let’s just―let’s just get back to the tattoo, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. We’re still having this conversation later, though,” Piper adds on the other end of the phone. “So, wolves? It wasn’t, like, the mascot of a sport you played or something?”

Jason pivots in his swivel chair, his phone wedged in between his shoulder and ear as he clutches a textbook, a ballpoint pen in his other hand. “I'm not that interested in sports.”

"Really? Shame." Rain patters against his window. It almost compliments her voice. Deep, rich, sultry. Like if smoke were a sound. "Thought I could’ve done something there. You seem like a sports kind of guy."

Jason sets down his studying tools and switches ears. “I used to play lacrosse," he mutters in disinclination.

“Used to?”

“Yeah.” He doesn't speak any more than that.

She goes quiet, but he could still hear her faint breathing. The silence is strangely pleasant as they listen to the rain and wind outside. Thunder rumbles, like a low, resonant hum. He wonders why he likes the sound of thunder. He wonders why he likes the sound of her voice. He wonders why the hell he’s been conversing with her for the past fifteen minutes when he _should_ be cramming for his final.

"Hey, Piper?"

"Yeah?"

He traces the sketch she had penned on him earlier. "What if you added a storm?"

Jason stays up most of the night, privately chatting with Piper, concocting arrangements about his upcoming appointment, brainstorming ideas, making her laugh. He doesn’t tell her why he doesn’t play field lacrosse anymore―not that it’s a big secret; Hera just didn’t like him drenched in dirt―or why he opts to add a storm. Instead, he settles for small talk, asking her how she discovered tattooing, teasing her about the hot chocolate she inadvertently spilled, talking about the stapler accident he had when he was two.

It's not that bad of a conversation.

# 

* * *

"You look like shit," Reyna tells him the next morning when they take their seats, waiting for the professor to begin the lecture.

"I _feel_ like shit," he mumbles, but there's a hint of a smile—a hint of a _lie_ —in his voice since he doesn't _actually_ feel like shit.

He thinks he knows exactly who to blame.

# 

* * *

Thalia whistles. “Damn, you and Piper are really hitting it off, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Jason questions the phone as he cracks an egg over a bowl. “We were just talking about my next appointment.”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “Is that why you were up until three in the morning or were you _just studying?_ ”

“What?” He nearly drops his phone on the kitchen floor. “Who told you that?”

Thalia scoffs. “Piper literally works for me. Who do you think?” She’s soundless for a moment. He can hear her old rock music playing in the background as he stirs the brownie batter. “You know,” she says, steady and slow, “Piper’s a nice girl, Jason.”

He agrees, but only silently.

# 

* * *

Jason approaches the parlor in the evening, making sure he disposes his cocoa-covered apron and adjusts his clothes before entering. The air outside is damp and moist from the storm yesterday, so when he comes inside, it’s like a breath of cool air. Nico’s at the receptionist desk this time and Jason gives him a wave. Nico doesn’t wave back, but regards him respectfully, dark eyes peering at the paper bag Jason has with him.

He doesn’t comment about it, just claims, “Piper’s at her station preparing. You can probably go in now. Leave that bag here, though.” Nico pats the far corner of the desk.

“Oh,” Jason responds. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

He leaves it.

He goes in.

He doesn’t know why he’s so agitated.

Piper’s tugging on a fresh pair of latex gloves. Her hair’s up in a ponytail today and she’s wearing mom jeans that display the matching dove tattoos on her ankles, something he had never discerned until now. She spots him and gestures vaguely to the chair. He moves into the same position as he did during the last appointment, arm stiff on the armrest, permitting her to wash off her initial drawing and scrub on some alcohol.

“Do you have the drawing? The one you texted me after we made some revisions?”

Jason shifts, his other arm grasping the small, folded paper from his pocket and offering it to her. She seizes it appreciatively and holds it up for reference as she turns the tattoo gun on, the sudden whir startling him.

Jason gulps.

# 

* * *

The first few minutes are noiseless as she inks, the small needles digging into his skin.

He tries not to squirm.

“You didn’t give me much background on why you chose a wolf,” she mentions after a while. “Other than the fact that Thalia likes them.”

Jason swallows. It’s a little gratifying that she chooses to talk to him. He’s familiar with the other artists in the parlor. If it were Thalia, he’d be the victim of endless heavy-metal music. Rachel would be the most loquacious, chattering on and on and on and on. Nico would be dead silent, which isn’t a bad thing, but it isn’t quite what Jason needed. With Piper, it’s casual. Sure, she’s interrogative, but she’s friendly. Easygoing. Unfussy.

“I had a tutor once,” he says evenly. “Her name was Lupa. She was...she was a good teacher. I think her name means wolf? I don’t—I don’t really know.” Jason suppresses the urge to laugh apprehensively. “You’re probably sick of me trying to figure out why I want a wolf tattoo.”

“I don’t mind my clients talking.” Piper’s eyes are pinpointed on his forearm, but her attentiveness doesn’t waver as he speaks. “I like listening to stories. Mostly from family.”

“Like what?” he questions before he could tell himself to shut up.

The tattoo gun buzzes as the silence goes by and his skin is prickling at the sensation of it and she’s focused and quiet and concentrated. Jason doesn’t feel the desire to break the silence or make her more discomfited than she already is, but he’s surprised when she finally speaks.

“Cherokee stories, mostly,” she confesses, smiling to herself. “My grandpa used to tell me about them. Before he...before he passed.”

“Oh.” Jason figures he should say something that should console her, but all he could manage is, “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” Piper smiles. “I still have my dad, at least. We’re still close. I treasure it. Having family, I mean. I live on my own and my dad’s a busy man, so sometimes it’s difficult to find some free time, but we make it work.”

“And he’s...he’s okay with you living on your own?”

“I’m an adult. Of course he is.”

“No, I mean…” Jason thumps the back of his head against the chair. “He’s okay with you...making your own decisions? He’s not worried about your future? Or your living space?”

“He’s my dad,” Piper says firmly, inspecting the ink so far. “He has the right to be worried, but he’s also supportive of me. It was...it was a problem at first. But we learned to trust one another.”

“Yeah,” he says, recalling Thalia and Hera and his father and his biological mother and the rifts in his ancestral family tree and the quarrels he’s determined to steer clear of. He tongues the scar on his lip. “Yeah.”

# 

* * *

“You made it cleaner,” Jason remarks as he gawks at her work, black ink paths swerving and swirling on his skin as it shines in the light. “Like, uh, it looks professional.”

“Well, I _am_ a professional.” She grins, a trace of a chuckle on her lips. They’re in the main room now, standing a good distance apart with nobody else in the room, but _shit_ it still feels _hot._

“Oh yeah,” he says mindlessly, too in awe at the tattoo to stir up a decent compliment, which is not like him at all, because Jason can _usually_ find something to point out. He can _usually_ flatter someone like no tomorrow, so _how come he can’t say something remotely intelligent in front of her?_ “Your shift was over a few minutes ago, right?”

“It was. That session took slightly longer than I thought it would. Why?”

“Nothing, I…” Jason strolls to the receptionist desk, grasping the paper bag he had left earlier. “I was wondering—do you—uh, do you like chocolate brownies?” He sheepishly passes her the bag. “I was supposed to make some for a bake sale or something—I don’t know, it was a favor for a friend—and I prepared an extra batch.”

She tentatively opens the bag and extracts a fudgy, chocolate square, examining the chocolate-chipped top and bottom. “And you’re not giving these to Thalia?”

He chuckles at that. “You know, I don’t think she likes desserts that much.”

“No kidding.” Piper grins wide and his heart does weird somersaults that feel like it’ll explode in a matter of seconds. “You know, something tells me you’re going to be back soon.”

Jason gapes at her.

Watches.

Blushes a little.

Swallows.

Returns her smile.

“I agree.”

# 

* * *

His visits become a routine.

He pushes the door open at the same afternoon time, ambles towards the break room at the rear end of the parlor, eats lunch with Thalia and Piper, consults with them, and returns to class.

It’s not perfect and it’s a bit time-consuming, but his smiles are more real now, his eye bags haven’t been seen in a while, and his steps don’t feel so labored anymore. He’s finally not letting his studies or his social life beat him up. Finals are still a pain in the ass, Hera’s still calling him every now and then, his dad still doesn’t call at all, but he treasures it.

The little moments with Thalia.

His talks with Piper.

_Family._

And he’s learning bit by bit.

Learning how to finally, _finally,_ be free.

**Author's Note:**

> i. rip jason's personality, it will be missed.
> 
> ii. jason's reason for getting a tattoo is pure impulsive bs and that's where i tried to hide feral!jason
> 
> iii. title of this fic is a lyric from sad forever by lauv.
> 
> iv. this fic can technically be read independently, but it's in the same universe as better off without me.
> 
> v. feel free to request ships and prompts! i'm open to a lot of ships, so don't be afraid to ask.
> 
> [tumblr](https://lovely-verisimilitude.tumblr.com/)


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